Christmas in a Palestinian ER

I end my Middle East trip early. What I have kept from my blog is that I've suffered from severe diarrhea for the last week. I got some type of stomach virus or parasite while traveling, which has prevented me from digesting food or retaining fluid. My very kind host family in Bethlehem, seeing me nearly incoherent and unable to eat, recommended I go to the local clinic.

On Christmas Day, I went to the ER in Bethlehem, which is part of the Occupied Territories in the West Bank. The people there were very hospitable. I gave them my American passport, and they charged me only 15 shekels to be seen by a doctor (less than $5!). Unlike your average U.S. ER, there were no lines, and they saw me right away. The place looked like any Western hospital, only a lot poorer. My initial impression, in my semi-coherent state, was that it looked kind of like the thrift store of hospitals, in that they didn't change the paper that was ontop of the hospital beds between patients, and most the chairs in the hospital were plastic ones you'd take to the beach. They did not have most of the normal things you'd see in a hospital mounted to the walls: the ear thing, gas, etc.

When the doctor came to see me, he didn't wear a white coat, but a brown jacket, like he'd just stepped off his motorcycle to see me. The first question he asked me, pointing for me to lie down on the bed was whether I was for George Bush or Barack Obama.

I told the doctor that definitely I was for Obama.

"Good," he said.

I don't know what he would have done, had I said Bush. I was just glad he spoke English, because I had heard everyone speaking in Arabic to each other walking in.

He then had me remove the two jackets and Bedouin scarf I was wearing because I was unusually cold. He lifted my shirt and started pressing down on the organs in my abdomen, and all on my left side hurt. My stomach was really painful. He asked where it hurt the most, and I told him on the entire stomach and intestines. And I told him that it hurt to eat anything, even trying to eat bread was quite painful. The only thing I could drink was tea or Sprite. But even tea upset my stomach, and led me straight to the bathroom.

He asked me some other questions in English, which I forget, but he never asked about allergies or if I was taking other medicines, and sat down and wrote out some prescriptions. He escorted me outside the room, to a bed with an IV hanging beside it. I said I didn't want any needles put in me, and couldn't I just drink the fluids? I had to go to the bathroom again immediately, so I did. And I was going to argue out of the IV, because I didn't know if they sterilized the needles, or just used the old ones, like the other things I saw in the office, but I was so incoherent, I couldn't formulate a thought.

I felt like sleeping, even though it was high noon. After the bathroom, I walked slowly back over to the hospital bed for me, and laid down. I was happy to see that the female nurse had a new needle in a sterile package for me. Because I have my Emergency Medical Technician certificate, I watched to make sure she did everything according to protocol. She tied a latex glove around my right arm, wiped down the inside of my elbow with alcohol, and inserted the big needle in me. A little blood came out, and the nurse took out one needle, and quickly hooked up the IV. My head and stomach hurt so much, that I did not really even feel the needle or IV. I had so much stomach pain, that watching her do that stuff was like watching it being done on TV, and not actually to my body. I was happy that she did everything how you're supposed to with sterile equipment, and that I was not going to complicate whatever infection or virus I already have with another one.


I sort of went in and out lying there. I remember thinking, this could be it--I could die in a Palestinian ER on Christmas.

I felt it was unrealistic, but I was not thinking logically. I just felt an odd pain from deep within me that I had never felt before. I do not know what death feels like, but I figured that that's what it could feel like, and it could come sooner than you think, when you least expect it. I then realized that I was probably just deathly dehydrated, and with some more fluid and electrolytes, I would think a little more clearly. I snapped some pictures, which you have here on the blog.

I made the decision lying there, on the borderline of consciousness, if I didn't improve radically in the next day, I'd leave for the UK or US or somewhere that has food I'm used to, clean water, and medical facilities I could trust with utmost confidence to fix me. I felt like I had no more power over the organs beneath my lungs, and I decided to medivac myself out of the Middle East, because I did not want to be wandering around the area in a semi-coherent state.

I knew from earlier in the week that a war was likely going to break out soon with Gaza (which it did). I had seen thousands of Israeli soldiers at the Western Wall with bags packed earlier in the week, either going home for Hanukkah or leaving for some type of mission. Based on their more subdued expressions and body language, waiting outside of the Old City of Jerusalem's Zion Gate, they seemed like they were being redeployed, and not going home for holiday.

I felt a little better after the IV, and when I was released from the hospital, I drank as much Sprite as I humanly could, which was about 3 liters, or little more than a half gallon of soda. I was feeling better, and took a taxi up to the Church of the Nativity so I could see the spot where Jesus was born on Christmas, and to Herodion, where I snapped some pictures for my earlier blogs. But I felt even worse than I did on the 25th when I woke up on the 26th in Bethlehem.

Out of medical necessity, I made the decision to leave Bethlehem, though I loved visiting there for three days. In leaving, I also ended my grand tour of the Middle East, where I was also hoping to visit Egypt and Jordan. I will have to visit those places another time.

I plotted my trip back to the United Kingdom, and little did I know that I would have to pass through 9 security checkpoints (7 in Israel alone!) to make it back to Scotland. More on that later.

I'm now back in Scotland and taking 6 medications after going to the ER in the UK last night. I'm having tests run to find out what the parasite or virus I have that's hurting my stomach. I'm feeling better now than I did yesterday, and hopefully over the next few days, I'll keep improving, and (fingers crossed) I'll be better in time for New Years.